


More than Absolutely Necessary

by ididthatonce



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 16:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11108760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididthatonce/pseuds/ididthatonce
Summary: Just a quick drabble based on one part of a fic that I read 16,000 years ago.Steve Rogers hates knowing more than absolutely necessary about his teammates.  They enjoy antagonizing him about this.  Sometimes unintentionally.





	More than Absolutely Necessary

**Author's Note:**

> There is some mildly dubious consent in this thing, but, let's be clear, it's Black Widow and she's always in control.

Sometimes, being part of a team meant knowing more than absolutely necessary.

Steve Rogers was a big fan of what he called “visible introversion.” He maintained a respectful but clear distance from his teammates, and he asked that they do the same. He maintained a strict “don’t ask don’t tell” policy about his fellow Avengers’ personal lives, exploits, and neuroses. When pressed, he reminded those around him that he came from a time when oversharing was not an option, and when he was expected to take any hardships on the chin and keep on keeping on. He quite liked it that way.

His teammates, of course, loved to chastise his old-school ways and delighted in dropping bits of personal information to get under his skin. Tony found it absolutely hilarious when Steve lost his balance and fell flat on his face after Tony revealed that he had lost his virginity on a high school football field. Clint won a sparring match by admitting that had kissed another man during a drunken game of Spin the Bottle in his teenage years, and that it “wasn’t that bad.” Even Bruce joined in the fun sometimes, once sharing that he had been breastfed until he was eighteen months old.

Bruce wasn’t very good at that game.

By far, though, no one loved to antagonize Steve more than Natasha. She would sometimes maintain a steady monologue over communications during missions where she would share as much information as she could until Steve either yelled, “STOP!” or cut the transmission altogether. Despite his attempts to remain “visibly introverted,” Steve knew the location of all twelve of Natasha’s tattoos, the entire story of her first kiss, the full names and birthplaces of every person she had dated, and the story of how her parents met. The last one he heard twice.

So, naturally, Steve was expecting to be given a hard time on a two-person mission he and Natasha had been sent on to recover a kidnapped diplomat from the Principality of Genovia. They had received intel that the diplomat, a kindly old man who spoke only Flemish, was being held hostage at an abandoned hostel in Rio de Janeiro, and it would be a bare-bones mission to retrieve him. Natasha, of course, would translate for the diplomat and secret him out. Steve was there as the muscle.

“Natasha, I swear,” Steve warned on the flight down, “I will leave you in Brazil if you share more information than is absolutely necessary over comm on this mission.”

Natasha just laughed. “I dated a Brazilian guy once. His name was Paolo. Terrible lay.”

Steve huffed and crossed his arms like a petulant child.

They decided to split up their entrance to the hostel. Natasha would enter first and subdue the guards. Then, Steve would enter and keep watch, taking down anyone who came for backup. Then, Natasha would free the diplomat and they would be on their way. It was supposed to be one of the easier missions they would undertake. “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am,” Natasha called it, which made Steve roll his eyes

Everything went according to plan for the first wave of the mission. There were six guards, and Natasha took town four of them easily. She called on Steve for backup for the last two, who were promptly defenestrated into the empty lot next door. The tussle was relatively quiet, and Steve was thrilled to have a little bit of silence, even if it meant he had to engage in a life-or-death battle to get it. But the hostel was large and cavernous, and there was no telling how many other guards were stationed throughout. Natasha flicked on her earpiece and pointed at her ear, instructing Steve to do so.

“No funny business.” He whispered. “This is serious.”

Natasha nodded. “Remember, you stay here and keep watch. Unless I say the word ‘rooster,’ you do not leave this spot.”

Steve nodded.

“By the way,” Natasha added, “‘Rooster’ was what my ex used to call his penis.” She sauntered down the hallway before Steve could do any more than clench his jaw.

She kept a whispered inventory of everything she saw: rusted-out doors, a rotting wooden bedframe, a nest of cockroaches. With a short “tsk” she noted that one door looked solid, and that that was probably where the diplomat was being kept. The door creaked, and Steve heard a man’s voice over the comm.

“Natasha,” he whispered, “are you okay?”

She replied to a question he hadn’t asked. “My name is Susan. How are you, handsome stranger?”

Her tone was unfamiliar and Steve felt a little sick while hearing it.

The man spoke more indistinct words. Natasha giggled. “Well, I think I’m lost, but I’m SURE glad I found you.”

More of the man speaking. Natasha started talking in a language Steve didn’t understand, but the intonation she used made him uncomfortable. He heard the words “faire l’amour” and the sound of a zipper. Then he heard some kind of slurping sound.

Steve began pacing. This was not happening. He was not listening to Natasha perform some kind of sex act over the comm. Joking about her sexual history was one thing, but this was entirely different. He tried flipping the switch, changing channels, anything, but he could still hear her working away, the man’s voice moaning in the background. Steve briefly considered removing his earpiece altogether, but he realized that, if circumstances changed, he needed to hear her cry for help. So he found a somewhat solid wall to lean against and waited.

Natasha made a deep, guttural moaning sound, muffled by whatever was in her mouth, which Steve tried not to consider. The slurping continued, louder and more hurried. She muttered something about “trop gros” and didn’t want to think about what that meant. The slurping became a gurgle and he heard her squeal. She said something he didn’t understand and spit. Steve prayed that it was over.

It wasn’t.

Her voice shook, and he could hear rustling in the background. Natasha mumbled “fuck” under her breath and let out another squeal. This one, high-pitched and unihibited, sent a jolt all the way through Steve’s body. He heard the man in the background again, and Natasha let out a soft grunt as the rustling continued.

Steve looked at his shoes and noticed on the way that his hand had somehow found his crotch. And, what’s more, that he was very visibly aroused.

“No.” He whispered to himself, but his hands had a different idea altogether. Meanwhile, Natasha grunted again, more loudly, over the comm as a slapping sound began building in the background. Steve’s hand found his zipper, and wordlessly he gave over to the lust that was clouding his judgement. Maybe just a quick tug, he lied to himself.

The slapping sound grew louder. Steve grabbed his erection tightly, pumping furiously in time with the sounds coming through his earpiece. Natasha growled a word that sounded like a swear, her voice cracking in time with the act in which she was clearly engaged. Steve braced the wall for support, knowing that it wouldn’t take long.

Natasha’s voice became high-pitched and needy, and the man’s voice grew louder and more distinct. Steve could hear Natasha’s breath quicken as she let out a series of nonsense words, followed by a “please” and a “fuck.” He stroked a fast as he could gripping onto anything he could find for dear life. Natasha moaned, and Steve felt as if she was doing so directly into his ear. Breathlessly, he let himself go, silently cumming onto the floor.

The man’s voice had disappeared, and Steve decided that he’d rather not know what became of him. Instead, he zipped himself back into his pants and waited for any kind of sign from Natasha.

Nothing. A minute, then five, then ten. He was about to call for her when he saw her burst into sight, the diplomat, bound and passed out, slung over her shoulders.

“You okay?” Steve asked, anxious about the answer.

Natasha winked. “That’s classified, Soldier. More info than is absolutely necessary.”


End file.
